I need you to need me
by Necchan
Summary: Sequel to "Love Until We Bleed". EXCERPT: "My, I know it's been a while for me, but I don't think that's how you ask someone out, Baby B."   -  "This... I... I'm not asking you out!" D8


**Title: **I need you to need me.*

**Fandom:** DCU- Batman.

**Rating:** PG-13/R.

**Genre: **Mainly humour, mush'nfluff (no, _seriously_), and a smudge of angst in places.

**Wordcount: **2412,

**Characters/Pairings: **Jason Todd/Tim Drake.

**Warnings: **Self-betaed, Jason , slash, _very brief_ passing mention of...uh... solo activities in the shower. ¬.¬;;

**Summary: **"My, I know it's been a while for me, but I don't think that's how you ask someone out, Baby B."

"This... I... _I'm not asking you out!_"

**Notes: **Second in the "(love) Until We Bleed" series. In this particular 'verse, Tim is on the prowl for his very own Jaybird, but Jay's got a very bad cause of the denial...

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><p>"<strong>...<strong>_**J**__ay!"_

Of all the things he'd been expecting, going to the shiny-coin side of Gotham for reconnaissance work, his name being called out loud was _so not_ on the list.

Jason had barely time to blink, that he suddenly found himself with an armful of Tim. A _wriggling_ armful of Tim, who wasted no time slipping wind-chilled hands under Jason's shirt, grabbed his spare gun and threw it in the nearest trash-can in a move so fluid, not one of the pedestrians noticed anything amiss.

"I liked that one, asshole," Jason growled.

Tim's grin was quirked and brief and wholly unrepentant, the kind that makes one hard-pressed not to grin back.

"Uh-uh, and that would motivate me to let you armed in a crowd _because_...?," he trailed off, startling a chuckle out of Jason, a muttered little "Smartass," that was more warm than it should have been. And then, before Jason knew what was happening, Tim was leaning up for a kiss.

A soft, fleeting press of lips at the corner of his mouth that had Jason stiffen involuntarily, both because it _was_ a kiss, blatant and public, and because it damn well _wasn't – _not the sort of kiss he'd been getting from the little bird lately, and it was hard not to feel cheated out of a treat.

Tim leaned back after a long moment, gracing Jason with a long, appraising look. The cocked eyebrow that followed looked as good on him as it ever did on Bruce or Dick.

"What brings you to this neighbourhood?"

Jason hesitated before answering. Shaking the little bird off his trail would be tricky, but it needed be done. Besides, it wasn't like he didn't have the skills to pull off a convincing act. Bat-training had ensured he knew how to _act_, once upon a time.

"I don't know what they teach you in that fancy-ass school of yours, Baby B." He considered fighting the urge to roll his eyes for the whole of a second, then went for it with a vengeance. "But last time I checked? Even villains need food to survive."

He gestured briskly to their surroundings, to the brightly lit shops and cafés and the hotdog stands scattered all over, pointedly not looking anywhere near the spot where he was supposed to meet his contact.

Tim's face shuttered violently off, like a switch had been flipped, and he burrowed deeper in their one-way hug.

"You're _not_ a villain."

They held each other's gaze for a moment, then the vigilante frown on Tim's face began to melt into something oddly... _endearing,_ his face going from stern to hesitant in something like slow-motion, and no, Jason definitely did _not_ spare a single thought to the way Tim was worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, and how it would be like to have a taste of that pretty mouth himself.

Absolutely _not._

…his mind was too busy making sense of the figure-eights Tim was tracing idly on the small of his back, nail scraping slowly along the naked skin, to focus on anything else.

"I... happened to be... heading towards a... towards this little café I was told about, and... if... if it's true that you're here _just_ for lunch you should have no problem joining me."

The latter half of the statement was said in a rush, and with a challenging tone that complimented well the look in Tim's eyes. Jason's answering grin was lopsided and wolfish and all sorts of _evil._

"My, I know it's been a while for me, but I don't think that's how you ask someone out, Baby B."

"This... I... _I'm not asking you out!_"

The glare plus blush combination always looked killer-good on Robin. But without the domino mask in the way, Tim was so...

Jason squelched the thought down, violently. Tim was off-limits, that's what he was. Jason wrenched himself away, startling a look of disappointment from Tim that made something lurch inside Jason. He found himself covering the sudden discomfort with a cruel grin.

"Then it won't be a problem if I go now, right?"

He turned to leave, but Tim caught his elbow, pulling them back into full-body contact.

"Yes. Yes it _will._" A pause. Eyes narrowing. "Because I'm not the only one patrolling the area, Jay," Tim stated carefully, looking very pointedly somewhere behind Jason's shoulder, and oh-my-God-did-that-mean-Tim-had-just-kissed-Jason-in-front-of-_Bruce_? Did Tim want him dead _that_ bad?

Jason had already detected several escaped routes, and picked out of the crowd no less than twelve possible hostages he could use to deter Bruce as he ran for his life, by the time he realized that Tim had tugged him across the street. There was a small, unpretentious café hidden behind a corner, and it was only when they walked through its doors that Jason's brain caught up with the fact that _he was holding hands with Tim._

He slapped a frown on his face, and surreptitiously tried to tug free. His endeavours earned him no less that seven nail-marks on the side and back of his hand, but no freedom. Surrendering to his fate, he followed Tim towards a secluded corner, and focused his glare on the bug-eyed patrons gaping after them.

The café was a far cry from the fancy restaurant Jason would've expected Bruce Wayne's pupil to inhabit, but it looked nothing like the greasy, smoke-filled dens back in Crime Alley, either.

It was a modest establishment, uncrowded but polished clean, smelling of lemon-scented wash, freshly brewed coffee and blueberry scones. For some reason, it reminded Jason of the Manor. His mind went back to those precious few times when Alfred had allowed Jason in the kitchen, pretending not to notice when the child dipped a finger in the cookie-dough and popped the sticky stuff in his mouth.

The thought of Alfred burned, even more than the thought of Bruce, so Jason batted an hasty retreat from memory lane. They'd reached their table by now, so Jason took the chance to yank free as Tim lowered himself into his chair. He dropped fastidiously in the opposite seat, high-strung with tension.

"_This_ your idea of a date, Baby B?" he lashed out. "Kidnap the first psycho available, hide him from the Bat and drag him around as a payment for it?"

Something wafted by Tim's eyes, something too quick to identify, and he shook his head as if he was trying to hide. Reaching out, he placed his hand over Jason's own and began to say: "Jason, you're not...". But Jason yanked away, not wanting to hear the rest (you're not a psycho. Not a villain. Not a bad person), knowing from experience how deep it'd cut_._

"And what's with the touchy-feely routine? Doesn't your favourite brother return your love? Is that why you have to settle for the faulty one?"

Tim didn't move. Jason could swear it: he _didn't_.

But for all intents and purposes, Tim looked like he'd recoiled back after a punch. His face made that annoying Bruce-trick – going utterly blank, as if a shutter had gone down behind his eyes – and he began to thumb methodically through an handy menu, focusing intently on everything that was _not_ Jason. Which made Jason feel like the worst scum on Earth. And though he tried to tell himself the bad taste in his mouth was not guilt, it really was.

"_Christ," _he rubbed his face, and exhaled loudly through his noise when Tim looked up at him from under his lashes. "I... drop the Bat impersonation, already. I'm just... kinda thrown for a loop here, okay? You always act like you're allergic to touch, and then you latch onto _me_? That's freaking _confusing."_

Tim seemed to mull over his words for a while, then the menu was carefully closed and pushed aside.

"No, I..." he steepled his fingers as he considered his words, swallowed, then exhaled long and low through his mouth. "You're right. I _do_ find physical contact objectionable, at least most of the times. There are very, very few people whose touch I genuinely enjoy."

"And you worship the Dickhead."

"Dick, Jason. His name is _Dick_."

"_See?" _Jason made an impatient gesture with both hands. "That's exactly what I'm talking about! _He_ is your brother, _he_ is your hero. I'm the black sheep. The Big Bad Wolf. What the fuck am I even doin' in the picture, uh?"

Tim bit his bottom lip.

"It's... legitimate to be suspicious, I suppose." The words rolled off Tim's tongue as if they tasted sour. "But Jason, you have to understand... I am not fond of touching people, so I wouldn't initiate a touch if I didn't want it. I wouldn't... initiate a kiss, if I didn't want _you. _And it hurts to be rejected._"_

Jason's anger drained from him instantly. He suddenly found it hard to swallow, for some reason he wouldn't name, but that had everything to do with the look in Tim's eyes.

Damn freaking misplaced _guilt._

He picked up a knife, began to twirl it around his fingers with hypnotic grace. At long last he said: "But I'm here, aren't I?" and shrugged. He couldn't offer more – an apology, something to deny that Tim was being rejected, a clue to what he _really_ thought of this, of Tim, of _them_ – but he hoped it would do.

Tim's eyes snapped from the knife's dance to Jason's averted face, but he said nothing. He leaned back in his seat, and seemed to grow considerably smaller as he did, folding into himself like the bird that was his namesake.

"You don't have to stay. I lied about being on patrol. It's safe for you to go whenever you want."

Jason cocked an eyebrow at him.

"You sneaky little _cheat."_

"A good tactician always knows when to improvise."

"_Riiiight_. Well," he leaned back too, countered Tim's defensive tone with spread arms and a disarming grin. "You've got me right where you wanted me, Mr Tactician. Why let me go now?"

"You're... staying?"

Damn, but the kid really did look like a _kid,_ when he was happy. The sort of kid who just woke up and found out that it was going to be Christmas all year round, to boot. Jason couldn't remember a time where his presence had made someone so happy. It made him feel self-conscious, and more than a little uncomfortable. _But..._

"I guess."

...but it was addictive. _Tim _was addictive, he'd been from the start, from that very first relief-and-adrenaline-and-blood-flavoured kiss from a few weeks back. Ever since then, Tim had been subtle, but unabashedly clear in his attentions towards Jason. Whenever they were alone, Tim would let his walls crumble, let Jason _see_ him. See that he cared, that he _understood,_ in that wordless, encompassing way he had, that secret code of brief looks and lingering touches, of fluttering breaths of relief and breath-holding concern, of silent reproach and fierce support.

Jason wasn't sure about many things, not at this point of his life. But one thing he was sure of, was that Tim had slipped under his defences, slipped right under his _skin_, much, much too deep for comfort, reawakening a part of him he'd thought long lost_._ There were some nights, as Jason lay atop a tall building with only a cigarette and a bunch of fading stars as company, when he would catch himself remembering the sound of Tim's voice; the knife-edge of it as Tim reproached him, how soft and cocoa-warm it could get, rolling around Jason's name.

Sometimes, Tim's face came to Jason after he rescued someone on the streets; and always after a nightmare, when his heart pounded wildly, the _taste_ of mud and the mildew from his coffin coated his mouth, and his bed was as cold as it was empty.

And then there were those times in the shower, when his body was starved, and throbbed for something that wasn't _only just _lust, and it was Tim's hand that caught him, his fingers that traced the scar on the side of Jason's neck as if it could be mended.

But another thing Jason knew for sure was that _Tim had no reason to want him_.

Jason had enough sense not to write off the kid's infatuation as a trick; but as real as it might be, Jason couldn't – _wouldn't_ – fool himself into thinking they could ever have something. That was just the way his life worked, after all: give the boy something good (his step-mother, Bruce, the mantle of Robin, his _real _mother, a second life, Talia, a chance for revenge) and then take it away in the most gruesome, painful way possible.

But – Jason reflected, as he casually trailed the knife along his skin, light enough to inflict no damage – a man could hold back only so long. And it wasn't like it would hurt any worse, if for a single fucking afternoon he stopped pretending that Tim wasn't the only shiny spot in his life, and that Jason didn't want so bad for this to be real, it actually _burned_.

He curled his fingers around the lines he'd traced on his palm, treasuring the faint tingle that felt like something between an open wound, and Tim's nails scraping his back. He took a deep breath, thought of coffee and lemon and _home._

"...think that the scones here can hold a candle to Alfred's?"

The statement had Tim blinking.

"You're staying."

"We've been over _that_ part already, Baby B. Pay attention to your date, will ya?"

Tim laughed quietly at Jason's blatant eye-roll. On impulse, Tim leaned across the table, then slowed his descent, giving Jason a chance to escape if he wanted, unlike their usual routine.

Jason didn't. He shrugged, lunged, met Tim halfway and kissed him thoroughly, with lips and tongue and teeth, until the kid was clinging to him like he was lifeline, and purring, like a sated cat.

Jason _could_ have lied and said that the best part of the whole thing was how he finally got to take Robin off-guard, for once.

But he'd already decided he would stop pretending for the rest of the day, so he didn't.

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><p><strong>~*~<strong>**おわり****~*~**

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><p><strong>*note on the title: <strong>The first ficlet of this 'verse was named after a song I was listening to at the time. In hindsight, the song seems to fit this verse as a whole, if only loosely. So when it came to choose a title for this second part, I shamelessly went a picked a line from that song's lyrics. :)


End file.
